


national spider-man day

by bstarship



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Mentioned May Parker (Spider-Man), Ned Leeds is a Good Bro, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker Whump, Peter Parker is a Little Shit, Protective Tony Stark, Tony Stark Has A Heart, he deserves it, obviously things go south, peter parker is allowed to be conceited for one day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:40:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26456542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bstarship/pseuds/bstarship
Summary: Peter had to run through a few breathing exercises as the crowd cheered on the other side of the bandshell. Whatever he expected—it hadn’t been this. Reporters, posters, balloons shaped like him, t-shirts, costumes, face paint, and much more. In the middle of signing signatures until Happy pushed him along, Peter realized that he didn’t have to make sure he gave everyone an award-winning smile. They couldn’t see his emotions behind the mask. They couldn’t see that he was more panicked than excited for this day.He couldn’t deny it—something felt off. Something felt very wrong.orWhen Queens announces a day revolving around Spider-Man, one might expect: a cheeseburger, a nervous teenager with superpowers, a failed assassination attempt, and the love and support of a famous billionaire.
Relationships: Happy Hogan & Peter Parker, Ned Leeds & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 23
Kudos: 204





	national spider-man day

* * *

**Midtown School of Science and Technology, Queens, New York. 8:16 AM.**

“But it’s a _school day_.”

“So? I got May to forge a doctor’s note so I can leave early,” Peter said. “I’ll be fine.”

Ned let out a groan and set his head down on the locker beside Peter’s. The girl beside him shot a glare over her shoulder. 

“You can’t really be this worried about me,” Peter continued lowly as he set a Calculus textbook into his locker. Students filed down the hallway behind him, a few sporting subtle Spider-Man merchandise—appropriately sold by Flash—and Peter smiled. 

“Don’t flatter yourself, Peter,” Ned mumbled, leaning back against the metal. “Ma wouldn’t let me skip today so I could go with you. As long as you tell me that Tony Stark is out of the country and can’t come, I’ll survive.”

Peter grimaced. “Actually—”

“Oh, c’mon!” Ned slammed his head back, and the loud clatter reverberated through the lockers. He winced on impact. “Ow,” he said while rubbing the back of his head, “that kinda hurt.”

“I’m sorry, dude,” said Peter. “Mister Stark made a really big deal about how tacky the thing was, and he said that he didn’t wanna steal my thunder, so I didn’t think he’d wanna show up. But then he randomly texted me _see you at 1_ and now I’m freaking out because I’ve prepared this speech—this really stupid, sappy speech that he’s gonna make fun of me for, and I’m not even good at public speaking. If I vomit in front of him, the mayor, _and_ all of Queens, I’ll never be able to show my face again. I mean, not that anyone would see my face because I’d be there as Spider-Man, not Peter—but still! And the _Daily Bugle_ would tear me to shreds. I feel sick.”

Ned’s eyes widened at his friend’s sudden outburst, and he took a few steps back meanwhile to give Peter space. “Dude,” Ned whispered. “You’ve gotta chill. Haven’t you known about this for weeks?”

Peter nodded and pressed his lips thin. “Yeah.”

“So, you had time to mentally prepare?”

“You of all people should know, Ned, that when it comes to mental preparedness, anxiety could care less.”

“Okay, true.”

“Besides—” Peter let out a sigh and shut his locker. As they made their way down the hall, he continued, “I don’t need to prepare. I’ll be in the suit. No one can see me cry if I mess up.”

Ned furrowed his brows. “That’s the spirit,” he said sarcastically.

“I just can’t believe the city is naming a day after me,” Peter said with a smile. “It doesn’t feel real.”

Ned trailed behind by a step and kept his head low. He mumbled, “it’d feel more real if your guy in the chair could be there,” and the bitterness seeped through his tone. 

“Do you want me to get May to forge a doctor’s note for you?”

“No, it’s fine,” Ned said, sighing. “I bet Flash will be live streaming it from his phone anyway. You sure you’ll be okay without me?”

Peter grinned at his friend. “I don’t know how I’ll manage.” 

**12:15 PM.**

Happy was late. 

Peter had officially been excused from school around 11:45 to give him ample time to change at home and run over his speech again—not to mention pick up a quick cheeseburger from Burger King since he was meant to miss lunch. But, with each minute that passed, Peter’s nerves grew stronger. He imagined that his feet had tapped small craters into the sidewalk while he waited on a sticky bench. No matter how many times Peter checked his watch, Happy’s car was not to be seen. 

The nerves made it impossible for Peter to dream about that cheeseburger. Any thought concerning food only made him queasy, so he turned to old memories to distract him. Like the time he and Tony set a multimillion-dollar kitchen on fire because of a failed science experiment involving a penny and a faulty bunsen burner. Or another time when he tried on the Iron Man suit for a few minutes and then cried because he wished Ben could see it. Peter’s knees bounced, and Happy was still not there. 

Instead of sending him another text to top off the last hundred, Peter called Happy and began to pace. 

“Yeah?” 

“Happy, hey—uh, you on your way?” Peter asked, voice cracking as he pushed back his hair. He glanced around at the entrance of the building to make sure he was alone. 

“Yeah, sorry, kid,” Happy said with, what sounded like, a sigh. “Traffic on Queens Boulevard is a nightmare. Guessing it’s because of your special day.”

The butterflies that had found home in Peter’s stomach faded away, and a smile grew on his face. “Traffic? For me?”

Happy ignored Peter’s excitement over such an inconvenient thing. “Listen, I’ll be there in two minutes. Did you still want a burger? Cos’ I forgot to eat. So we’re getting burgers.”

“Y-yeah, yeah,” Peter said. The nerves easily rushed right back. “Burgers are fine.”

“You sound nervous. Are you nervous?”

“What? No!” Peter exclaimed, chuckling. With his voice once again cracking, his denial didn’t make a convincing argument. 

“Pete, you’re gonna be fine,” Happy told him. The sincerity in his tone was a nice change. “Just picture everyone in their underwear and you’re gonna do great.”

“That’s such an old trick.”

“So? It works.”

“It never works.”

Happy sighed and quickly called quits to the bickering. “When I get there, you promise you won’t vomit in the car?” he asked. “Your aunt says you get sick when you’re nervous, so I brought a few bags just in case. And ginger ale. She says you like ginger ale.”

“That was the old me,” Peter replied, pouting slightly. “Pre-superhero me. And since when did you start _casually_ talking to my Aunt May?” 

“I’m—er, I’m the bridge between her and Tony,” said Happy, although his tone wavered. “Yeah. She supplies the concerns and the information, I run them over to Tony. 

“Concerns and information? What does that mean?”

“What it sounds like.”

“Well, it sounds like you guys talk about me behind my back, and I don’t—”

“I’m pulling up to the school now.”

Peter stared at the dropped call on his phone with furrowed brows for a moment before a black car came whizzing up. The window lowered in an instant, revealing Happy’s pink—slightly stressed and sweaty—face. 

“Get in,” he said, “we’re running way behind schedule.”

“Don’t think we’re done talking about _concerns and information,_ ” Peter muttered as he situated himself in the passenger seat. He tossed his backpack into the back. 

Happy put the car in _drive_ and took off onto the street. “Yeah, yeah. Put your seatbelt on.”

**Forest Park, Queens, New York. 12:56 PM.**

Peter had to run through a few breathing exercises as the crowd cheered on the other side of the bandshell. Whatever he expected—it hadn’t been this. Reporters, posters, balloons shaped like him, t-shirts, costumes, face paint, and much more. In the middle of signing signatures until Happy pushed him along, Peter realized that he didn’t have to make sure he gave everyone an award-winning smile. They couldn’t see his emotions behind the mask. They couldn’t see that he was more panicked than excited for this day.

He couldn’t deny it; something felt off. Something felt very wrong.

Standing behind the bandshell, surrounded by a blanket of bright green trees, Peter was thankfully alone. Happy had taken to guarding the mayor up on stage—superheroes hardly needed security, but Peter sometimes wished it wasn’t only up to him. Sometimes, he wished someone could be _his_ superhero. Not even Iron Man was up to much these days. 

That was partially why Peter was so freaked out—after saying he wouldn’t be there, Tony had then announced that he _would_ be there. But it was four minutes until Peter was meant to be called up on stage, and Tony was still not there. If anyone asked, Peter would say that he was glad his mentor decided not to show up, but deep down, the thought upset him. What was the purpose if Tony wasn’t there at all?

Peter’s stomach gurgled as a minute passed. The mayor said something uplifting, and the crowd of hundreds applauded. When Peter arrived at Forest Park to witness unfamiliar faces celebrating him, he imagined it to be a fever dream. His secret suspicion of getting his own statue—a _statue!—_ was confirmed by a dark gray tarp covering something tall beside the bandshell. He was certain that he would burst into tears at the unveiling. 

This day was almost as perfect as the day the Avengers statues went up in Central Park. Peter saw both Captain America and Iron Man that day. The rest of the team had been elsewhere, clearly impartial to the celebration as Peter was now sharing the sentiment deep in his gut. He couldn’t help but wonder why he had agreed to something that made him so queasy. If someone bothered to attack him now, his jelly legs would humor them to death. 

Another minute passed. The sound of crunching leaves made Peter’s heart rate soar into oblivion, and as he turned toward the noise, he bent his knees in preparation for an attacker. But there was no sign of danger—unless you counted a short billionaire and a pair of flashy glasses that Peter heard him call _Edith_ a few times. 

“Jesus, you’re jumpy,” Tony said with an amused grin. “Lemme guess—Happy told you to picture them all in their underwear.”

Peter sighed and relaxed his shoulders. “Yeah.”

“I told him—” Tony shook his head, stepping closer to Peter. He lowered his glasses on his nose. “—it never works. But seriously, even the suit is starting to look green. Your aunt did say that you get sick when you’re nervous; you doin’ okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, think so.” Peter nodded. It was only partially true. He could stomach a few minutes of public speaking, but his worry now resided with the patch of sweat on his lower back. “I didn’t think you’d come.”

Tony was slightly taken aback. “You can’t possibly think I’m _that_ shitty of a mentor, can you?”

“Oh, is that what you call it?”

“Yeah, you’re right,” he said, “this was a mistake. If you need me, I’ll be on a plane to Denmark.” Tony pushed the sunglasses up toward his eyes and backed away.

“No, no, I’m sorry,” Peter said before voicing in a low whisper, “I’m just—I’m really freaking out, Mister Stark. I feel like something is wrong.” 

“With you?”

“No. With… _this._ ”

“Oh.” Tony nodded understandingly. He had spent enough time with Peter to pick up on the sixth sense clues. They weren’t much to go off of, especially in moments like these, but it made Peter feel better to know that he could tell someone about it. Even if they were false alarms. “I’ll get Hap to scan the crowds. Maybe walk around for a bit while you’re up there.”

“But he’s up there, too,” Peter said.

Tony shrugged. “I’ll boot him off. No biggie.”

_“And now,”_ the mayor began from the stage, _“it’s my pleasure to welcome you the crowning jewel of today’s event and the borough’s most beloved neighborhood hero—”_

“That’s your cue,” Tony said, quirking a brow.

_“Spider-Man!”_

Peter rushed around the bandshell, letting his adrenaline take him up on the stage where he greeted the mayor with a handshake. From only a few feet above the crowd, all eyes were on Peter. On Spider-Man. He could see the faces of beaming children and judgemental adults. He could see everyone waiting patiently for their hero to state a few words of wisdom. But at only just fifteen-years-old, all Peter knew was fighting crime and making sure he made it to class on time. He didn’t know anything else. There wasn’t much wisdom to give. 

Peter leaned up to the mic. “Uh—” He nearly jumped at the sound of his voice echoing through the speakers on either side of the stage. “Thank you so much for having me. This—this is great, wow.” 

Peter shot a glance off stage where Tony was speaking a few words with Happy. May was at the corner of the crowd with a smile on her face, and she gave him a quick thumbs up. The only people missing were Ned and MJ, but perhaps they were in Academic Decathlon practice right now watching him on Flash’s phone. He had everyone he loved supporting him. Peter ignored the odd feeling gnawing underneath his skin and continued. 

“I used to idolize the Avengers,” he said, trying not to hint at his age as his voice trembled, “like so many others did and still do. I always thought it would be _so_ _cool_ to be just like them—fighting crime and getting the glory. I mean, I can’t lie, it is pretty cool.”

A small chorus of laughs echoed right where May said it would. Peter let the response fuel his ego for the remainder of his speech.

“But I quickly realized that there’s so much more to the job,” he carried on. The words to his speech were on display in his HUD, but he barely registered them. He was blinded by the sea of faces staring up at him. They were all there for him. “It’s not about the satisfaction of saving someone from a burning car or making sure another local bank isn’t robbed that night. It’s about making people feel safe. It’s about knowing that they’ll go home every night to a family and a home-cooked meal and that they’re safe. They’re alive.”

Peter took a breath. He could feel Tony’s eyes burning through him, but he didn’t look over to find out. 

“What a lot of people don’t realize is that this job kinda sucks, too,” Peter said, tapping nervously at the podium. “Don’t get me wrong, I love it. Wouldn’t change a thing. But it’s hard. I think I’ve probably evaded death like, three hundred times. But you all make it easier for me. You make it worth it. So thank you, really. This is all about you. Thank you.”

It hadn’t been the end of his original speech, yet Peter had scrapped those words halfway through. He backed up and let the cheers and claps envelop him. The mayor shook his hand once again.

“Thank you, Spider-Man, for your courage, your strength, and for making Queens a safer place,” said the mayor with a grin. He motioned over toward the large tarp beside the bandshell. “To honor your service to the city, we’ve commissioned a—”

Before the mayor could finish his thought, an explosion disrupted the back of the crowd, and smoke billowed up toward the stage. Screams, shrieks, and even coughs filled Peter’s ears once the ringing died down. People scattered around the area like mice. The mayor, who had previously been standing right beside Peter, was ushered off the stage in an instant. Now, Tony stood beside him as smoke veiled his vision. 

“Kid—”

“I have to see if everyone’s okay,” Peter said. The smoke from the explosion stung his air passageways, and all he could see through the brown haze were the outlines of figures that his AI had illuminated for him. 

Tony’s jaw clenched as he nodded.

“Get May,” Peter told him. “Please make sure she’s okay.”

The screams had started to get to him. They were shrill, traveling up his spine like electricity while the crowds of people continued to fight their way out of the park. Peter still couldn’t see beyond ten feet. 

“Pete, if this was a setup—”

“Please, Tony, just make sure she’s—” 

Peter stopped midthought, torso seizing as a rush of static filtered down his arms. A great big warning flashed in his brain, and he dove toward Tony before he could think. They landed on the stage with a forceful impact. Tony was the one to break their fall. 

The explosion had been too sudden, but Peter felt the gunshot coming. And he knew it hadn’t been heading toward him. His mind reeled; the last thing he needed was a fatally wounded mentor that had carved out time in his day to support Peter. 

Peter sat on his knees, breathing out unevenly as he checked to make sure Tony was okay. As he let out a sigh of relief, he immediately wished he hadn’t. A hot flash of pain splintered through his torso. 

“Kid, what the hell did you do that—” Tony sat up, slipping off his sunglasses while his eyes fell down to where Peter’s hands covered his torso. “—for… Pete?”

Peter’s world spun, and the lightheadedness overwhelmed any sense of pain. He took one glance down at the blood coating his hands and fell onto his side. The smoke, the explosion, and everything else suddenly faded from memory. 

“Shit, _shit_ ,” Tony sputtered, resting his hand over Peter’s to apply more pressure. “What happened? Who did this? Kid, I need you to talk to me.” After a quick glance around the perimeter, Tony tugged Peter’s mask above his forehead. 

“Shooter,” Peter mumbled. His eyes welled with tears, but he hardly noticed. He pointed a finger at Tony. “Shot at you.”

Anger flooded over Tony’s expression, yet it didn’t last long. He brought Peter up on his knees and set his head against his chest. The pressure on Peter’s wound never left. “You idiot,” Tony muttered. “You complete idiot. You’re not supposed to save me.”

“But that’s what I do,” Peter said. “Save people.”

“Yeah, well, not _me_.” Tony kept scanning the grounds, and Peter couldn’t figure out why. The smoke was clearing around him. “Medics are gonna arrive any minute, okay? So, you’ve gotta hang in there for me, bud. You hear me? Can you do that?”

Peter nodded weakly against Tony’s jacket. “Think so. S’it bleedin’ a lot?”

“I don’t know,” Tony answered. “If I look, I might pass out.”

Peter tried to chuckle, but he couldn’t find enough air in his lungs. He felt loopy, like he had just woken up from a NyQuil-induced nap in the middle of a nasty case of the flu. His bones simultaneously felt like the heaviest and lightest objects in the universe. As he breathed out through his nose, Peter became hyperaware of the unsettling taste of cheeseburger on his tongue. 

“Not too bad,” Peter said. “Kinda feels like I’ve been stabbed, n’ I’ve been stabbed before. Survived ‘em, too.” 

“Save your breath, kiddo,” Tony sighed out, knitting his brows together as he looked down at Peter. “Can’t have you falling asleep on me. Can’t have you stop talking either.”

“This sucks.” Peter closed his eyes for a moment, and Tony jostled him. “Whose i-idea was it t’do this? Hol’days are supp’sed t’be fun.”

Tony seemed wired as he said, “next year, we’ll spend Spider-Man Day at my place, ‘kay? Get all your friends to come. No speeches, no gaudy costumes, and no statues to unveil. Just us. And I’ll pretend to be interested when you teach me how to play that Dragons and Dungeons game.” 

A smile grew on Peter’s cheeks. His eyes closed once again. “It’s Dungeons and Dragons, Mis’er Stark.”

“Yeah, I know,” Tony said. “I used to play it, too. Believe it or not, I was a nerd.”

“Still are.”

“I’ll let that one slide since you just took a bullet for me,” he muttered, but there was an edge in his tone that showed his concern. “Still with me?”

“Is it snowing?” Peter asked. He felt something fall onto his cheeks. However, he couldn’t feel its warmth. He couldn’t bother opening his eyes to see.

Tony didn’t reply right away. “It’s ash, bud. From the explosion.”

“There was an explosion?”

There was more pressure on Peter’s wound, one that made him tense with the pain that followed. Meanwhile, Tony’s grip around Peter’s arm tightened. 

“You don’t remember the explosion?” Tony asked as he attempted to keep his calm. Sirens poured in from the distance. “It was a big one. And then you saved me, remember? You were a huge dumbass and saved me.”

Peter’s lips pulled into a frown. “What’d I save you from?”

“Stop fucking with me, Pete,” Tony seethed. “Stop it right now. You—you were shot. Okay? Don’t you remember?”

With the little strength he had, Peter shook his head. “Jus’ pain. But no pain anymore. Jus’ sleepy.”

Tony adjusted his grip on Peter, meanwhile shaking him to keep him awake. “Can’t do that,” he said. “You can’t fall asleep on me. Just another few seconds.”

The sirens drew near, blaring and bright as disembodied voices shuffled through the dwindling smoke. Tony tugged Peter’s mask back over his face.

“Hang on a little longer, Pete,” Tony said, breathing heavily. 

Peter’s head rocked to the side, and the sounds of the outside world had begun to fade. Tony’s voice seemed miles away. 

“Pete?”

His body felt light, pillowy. The only memory he had of his mom and dad flashed in his mind. A swing set, a field of orange and yellow trees, and a scraped knee. 

“Peter?”

He smiled as his mother bandaged up the skin and placed a kiss on top. She wiped his tears with her thumb before hoisting him into her arms. That was the last memory. The only memory. Peter didn’t have enough to miss her. He didn’t have enough strength to miss anyone. 

There was nothing to worry about. Nothing at all.

**Somewhere in Upstate New York. 9:43 PM.**

When Peter awoke to a speckled tile ceiling above him, his instincts immediately told him that he was in the nurse’s office back at school. It smelled sterile yet stale, slowly rotting away from years of decay and kids getting sick in trash cans. He could visualize the strange posters beside the leather cots, from a photo of elephants with the caption _“Elephants”_ to all of the symptoms a smoker would suffer in an uncomfortable infographic. But when Peter attempted to turn his head, bile rose up to his throat. 

He let out a groan. He tried to move his arms to rub at his eyes, but something in his torso screamed at him. Like hot coals had been placed on his bare skin. Peter’s head grew heavy. 

“You can’t move like that, Pete,” a voice said, “you’ll bust the stitches.”

“Sti—huh?” His head lolled to the side, and luckily, his stomach didn’t lurch at the movement. 

Tony sat there in an old Pink Floyd t-shirt, and splotches of dirt and ash could be found on his cheeks and forehead. A smile graced his features. “You good there, Pete?”

Peter hummed. He tried to smile too, but he wasn’t sure if he did or not. 

“Gave us a real scare there, y’know that?”

“Know what?”

Tony’s smile fell quickly. He rubbed at a spot of dirt on his nose. “Can you remember anything that happened today?”

“Uh—” Peter felt his forehead tighten as his thought about the last thing he could remember. A cheeseburger, a crowd, and a lot of fear. And then an explosion. “Boom.”

Tony almost seemed amused at that—chuckling as if he had no reason to be anxious, but it died with a shake of his head. “Boom, yeah,” he mumbled. 

“Me day,” said Peter as he slowly regained consciousness. With each passing second, memories became clearer and the fuzz in his brain faded away. Although he still felt loopy, and if he breathed in deep, his torso burned. “Aw, I didn’t get t’see my statue.”

Tony rolled his eyes, and this time, a smile stayed on his lips. “It looked stupid. Didn’t do you justice.”

“Everyone okay?”

His eyes turned sad, and the shift in energy was enough to answer Peter’s question. “Uh—well,” Tony said, clearing his throat. He fidgeted with his fingers on his lap. “A lot of people are okay. Others, I can’t say the same. It was a big—a big… _boom,_ Pete.”

Peter frowned. “I couldn’t save them.”

“You didn’t know.”

“I should have been able to save them.”

Tony pressed a hand on Peter’s shoulder, and it was then that Peter realized he had attempted to sit up in bed. He caught a glimpse at the room around him. He had only seen this place in passing. Marveled at it once or twice as he imagined all of the great minds that worked here like Helen Cho and Bruce Banner. But now Peter was here, so was Tony, and they were alone. 

“You couldn’t have even if you had gotten there in time,” Tony explained. “You can’t be responsible for everyone, Pete.”

“But—but that’s my _job_ ,” Peter said, eyes watering. “I’m supposed to save people.”

“You did.”

He raised a brow. 

“You saved me,” Tony said. “A remarkably dumb choice, if I do say so myself. But you did it anyway. I’m absolutely livid with you because of it, but I’m also pretty grateful, too. May let me blow off some steam with a rant earlier so I wouldn’t take it out on you. She’s a saint. Just don’t forget that I’m mad at you for saving my life. _I_ _’m_ supposed to save _your_ ass. Got it? I don’t want it to work the other way.”

Peter nodded. There was something in his system that made his thoughts come in and out of focus. He heard every word that Tony said, but all he could focus on was—

“May,” Peter said. “Is she okay? Where is she?”

“Oh, yeah, she’s good,” Tony told him with a nod. “You’re gonna be here overnight so she’s grabbing some stuff at your place. She’ll be here before you know it.”

Peter let out a sigh of relief and rested his head back against his pillow. His eyes felt heavy, but he didn’t want to fall back to sleep. Not yet. “I saved your life?” he asked quietly. 

“Unfortunately.”

A grin broke out on his cheeks. “Cool.”

“Do _not_ let that get to your head, Mister Parker,” Tony said with a stern glance and pointed finger. “I already convinced May to let me ground you until the next Web Head Day comes up.”

“Why’d they want you?” asked Peter. The thoughts in his brain were running faster than he could catch up. 

“Who?”

“The guy that shot you—I-I mean me.”

Tony shrugged. He seemed unfazed. “Dunno,” he said. “Happens more often than you think. At least to me. Whoever it was—they used a bomb as a distraction and then _pew_. Fire away. ‘Til you stepped in and ruined their plan, thank you very much. Still haven’t caught the shithead though.”

“I’m sorry.”

His eyebrows furrowed. “What for? You’re the one that saved me.”

“Sorry it happened t’you,” Peter mumbled, exhaustion creeping in steadily. “Don’t deserve it.”

Tony sighed, shaking his head as a hint of a smile grew on his lips. “I don’t deserve _you_ , kid.” 

Peter’s eyes closed and his breathing slowed. He could feel the weight of a hand brushing strands of hair away from his forehead. He welcomed sleep this time, gladly awaiting his dreams while the wound in his abdomen healed. It would be gone by the next morning. And _Spider-Man Day_ would be buried deep in his memories. 

He didn’t need a special day. He didn’t need to be celebrated or worn on t-shirts. The support was enough. Peter was happy with just enough. 


End file.
